Shots
by Six-Helix
Summary: Series of one shots that involve multiple povs and multiple characters, also character deaths.
1. Tossing Back

**Shots**

"**The Toss Back"**

I do not own White Collar, for if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction now would I?

_This is set a few weeks after the conclusion of Out of the Box, so if you have yet to see the season finale then be prepared there are spoilers below. Also this is purely from the point of view of Neal._

* * *

I've always thought of life as a glass half full, everything had to be taken with that little wistful attitude I seemed to hold onto. I suppose that is why my world shattered so hard when Kate died. My glass was no longer half full, it was far too empty for me to accept. That is why my outlook changed so drastically, life to me is no longer a partially full glass but rather life is a series of shots; Sloppily thrown back so that more of the rich liquid flows over one's lips than down their throat.

Life tastes bitter now, it doesn't have the simple pleasures it used to have. But then again without Kate I haven't had those simple pleasures either. Pleasures like waking up next to a warm body, feeling your lover's lips against your own, or just listening to the soft breathing of someone you cherish. None of that is there any more, and though they say it could come back it won't ever be the same. Life is tarnished, life is sloppy.

Which makes sense when you think of where I am now, lying on this cold concrete floor in a pool of liquid far too warm to be good. I can taste the bitterness of the liquid; feel the numbness of the stupor it is putting me into. Though I don't remember ever picking up the glass to take these dangerous sips, but that doesn't mean I didn't throw them back just that I've pushed myself far beyond my own threshold to understand how I got there.

That isn't completely true, I remember how I got here. I was with Peter, Jones, and Cruz. We were working on a case, some high profile collar that seems all too irrelevant now. I remember it had something to do with home invasions, with stolen and foraged pieces of art, and…and…guns. Oh that's right, guns.

That makes sense now that I think about it. I remember choosing very carefully what shot would be my last one. I didn't have to think very hard about it, Kate's last shot had been delivered by the device that she hated most. Explosions, bombs same difference to her. She thought they were too destructive for the lives they stole and for those they left behind, too cruel. I agreed, but I have my own phobia. I didn't want to choose the typical pills, ropes, depression, anger, sadness, loneliness, ledges, cars, or trains. None of that would leave the same lasting impression; no it had to be guns.

I didn't think I was coming in here to die, no that would be ridiculous. I can't say I haven't been playing hard ball with death a little too much lately but still I wasn't looking for it the opportunity just kind of rose up out of nowhere. I saw the gun pointed at Peter and instinct took over, I kicked up into the air and pitched him over. It sounded like the smart thing, the right thing. And I suppose in a lot of ways it was. I saved my friend, but I fear that I took something from him that he won't be able to find again.

I promised him that I was ready, that I was sound and could do the job again. That is the only reason he let me come with him, let me in on this case. I didn't mean to lie, but it just kind of slipped out that way. I am not ready, nowhere near being there but I couldn't let him down. He needed me to be ready, so for Peter I was. And now for Peter I've taken that last shot.

I know he's here, I can feel the warmth of his hands even hear the worry in his voice but I can't open my eyes to find out for sure or not. He doesn't need me to look at him, doesn't need to see the lie in my eyes or the true peace that is there. To him I will take my last shot of life as a hero, which is a memory that Peter needs to hold onto not the memory of me waiting longingly for the moment that my heart pumps for the last time.

I should do something, give him some final sign that it is alright. That I know he's there, perhaps if I squeeze his hand then he'll understand…I do and all I get is a stronger squeeze and a brush of fingers over my forehead. Why does he have to be so gentle? So caring? He's not the man I thought he was, but then again he could say the same about me.

The wish that I could tell him all of that passes through my mind, but it is far too late. I've gone past the point of no return, even now I feel the last ounce of life sliding out of me. He doesn't want to let me go, now I know I'm clutched to his chest and part of me aches to apologize for all of this pain he is going through and will be going through.

But where I'm going now he can't follow, not yet, it isn't quite his time. I realize now that this shot is as much for him as it is for. Our final shot, our last moment together, the defining moment in Peter's life…perhaps we've been taking these shots together for a long time or perhaps this is the first one. Despite all of that I'm glad it is hands that I die in, because of all the people left in the world he's the only one I'd want there. Hopefully his glass will remain half full, perhaps he'll see the good things that have come out of this. Who knows, but I know that it's last call and bottoms up so…cheers Peter we'll take another shot together one day, just not now.

THE END


	2. After Shot 1

**Shots**

"**After Shot 1"**

Neal hasn't been right in a while, I've noticed but kind of pushed it to the back of my mind. This business with Kate just ended, it is still a fresh scar on the man and yet I have him here on this case. He isn't ready, I know this…but I need him to be. I need him to be back, not stuck. But the change that I was seeing scared me, he was no longer living his life to the fullest he was instead just kind of moving along trying not to bump into life.

I was trying to keep my eyes on him, trying to make sure that he would be alright, that he wouldn't do anything stupid, and look what it got me. I was watching him so much that I missed seeing the shooter, it is my fault that Neal is bleeding in my arms. He did this to save me…when I'm supposed to save him.

He must have seen the gun because out of the blue he just leapt up and knocked me down. I didn't know how to react immediately, because when I hit the concrete I slammed down on my head. I was dizzy and confused, seeing things. I saw the blur of movement then heard the bark of guns, Jones. It had to be Jones. Wait Cruz was there too, oh one of them, they hit the target.

Once I could get the buzzing out of my ears I realized that Neal wasn't moving, he was breathing, he was bleeding, but he wasn't moving. I pushed him off gently, eased him down onto his back, and then searched to apply pressure to the wound. He'd taken a round to the liver, he wasn't going to walk away from this. The ambulance couldn't be fast enough, not to save Neal. I closed my eyes for a moment before my hand slipped to his cheek.

"Neal. I need you to stay awake, for as long as possible." I tried to mask the worry in my voice, but I noticed that he only clenched his eyes closed tighter. Letting out a breath I just smoothed my hand over his forehead, brushing away dirt and hair.

"You're a brave man, Neal. You didn't need to do that." He squeezes my hand and I'm close to losing it, damn it he's my friend! He isn't supposed to die like this, he's supposed to be the thorn in my side for years to come but it isn't going to work out like that. Life tossed back a shot that I wasn't prepared for, something strong that knocks you off your feet. Life just tossed back the curveball of alcohol and I couldn't keep from tripping over my feet.

Brushing my fingers over his forehead I can't help but whisper, "I'm so sorry Neal. Sorry about Kate, sorry about not watching your back, sorry that I ever put you in this situation. This is my fault." I've pulled him against my chest, tucked my head against his shoulder, and all I can think about is that this man had so much life left in him. But it's dashed away, swallowed, choked on…it's gone.

The End

* * *

_Author's Note: At the end of each chapter there will be an After Shot which will be the same moment through the eyes of the person there with them. These are all different "Shots" that life could offer. I'm not sure how long or how many I'll do but definitely will cover at least three. There is a Neal, Peter, and will be an Elizabeth one coming. Any suggestions?_


	3. Russian Roulette

**Shots**

"**Russian Roulette"**

_Since so many people messaged me about this story good and bad about continuing in the "Shot" sequence I decided to do one more. If you all like these little shots let me know and I can add more. As for my other story "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" the next chapter is coming just needed to take a break from that one._

_I understand that no one seems to be overly excited with the character death, and that's fine it was just some random grouping of thought that has popped in my head._

* * *

Life always tends to surprise you, when you least expect it to. I guess that is why I liken it to a loaded gun, you never know when that shot is going to go off and you lose the game of roulette that you weren't expecting to be playing. I suppose that is why this night was so off, why we all got to the scene at the wrong time, why one of us is leaving in a body bag rather than in the car.

The day was dark, dreary, but relatively normal for this kind of case I mean it was just one of those days. We all have them at times, but this one just seemed even more unusual. We were supposed to be taking a surveillance shift, just watching a group of suspected art thieves in case they made a move. So I'd decided to bring along Neal, he hated surveillance but he had a great knack at noticing things that I sometimes miss.

Like every normal thing, it didn't end normal. We were just sitting there talking about something …something that doesn't seem that important any more, but I know it had been then. We were caught off guard when someone in a MOMA uniform walked into the lobby, Neal spotted the guard's uniform first but still it was a shock. They were making a move, they had an inside man. I called it in while Neal slipped from the car, heading over to the building. It wasn't my idea, but sometimes the kid is good.

I wasn't in the car long, not longer than five minutes. I couldn't have been…but it was too long for Neal. Something happened, I heard shoots and then shots and without thinking I bolted across the street. I know I shouldn't have done it, that I was just asking for trouble by blinding running across those two lanes but I wasn't expecting for what hit me.

Even now it doesn't feel like anything happened, I remember lights…bright lights. Then for some reason I remember being above what happened, I guess I must have been flying through the air…yeah that would make sense. But I don't remember pain, I don't even remember landing. I know I had to because right now I'm on cold concrete, but I don't remember getting from point A to point B. I don't even remember how Neal got to my side.

I know I must be in pain; I have to be because I'm cold and I can't move. But I can feel hands, I can feel his hands roving over my body and it's odd that I can feel warmth from his hands against my cold skin. He's talking to me, I know he is but I don't understand what he's saying. Maybe it's because I can't really breathe, or that I can't really focus. I don't know, I just know that by the way he's frantically moving that this cannot be good. The kid has lost so much, he's lost Kate, he's lost his life as he knew it, and now…I can't be that next thing. No, he's not ready for that.

You know when I took this job I always thought it would be a bullet that landed me in this situation, not a car. I guess that is the chance you take with life. You never know when that round will pop up, the chamber will empty, and all that will be left behind is dust and some old memories.

I guess that isn't so bad, at least there is something left behind. I wish in this moment I could roll over and hug my wife, just wrap my arms around her one last time. I'll miss the feeling of her in the morning, the touch of her body against mine, the way she tries to hide under the covers for those last few moments of sleep, and of course her smile.

There are things that I'll miss, people that I'll miss, but I know that this cannot be the last chapter. It can't end like this, me in a body bag and Neal in the car. It just seems so...wrong.

THE END


	4. After Shot 2

**Shots**

"**After Shots 2"**

I haven't been myself, I'll be the first to admit that. Dark thoughts have passed through my head and they haven't completely been shaken. Lately you could say that I've delved heavily into the Poe way of dealing with things. I'm lamenting over the loss of my Lenore, my Kate. Peter understands, to a point, but he doesn't really know how it feels. He can guess, but he won't know. And to be honest, I couldn't bear to see him carry this pain. No one should have to.

He's caught me lost in my dark thoughts, lost in what could have been or what could be. I think it scares him and that is why he pulled me back to work and on something as boring as this. Stakeouts were for grunts, and it was a waste of my time for the most part. Though I guess it was a good thing I was here or Peter probably would have missed the Museum of Modern Art guard walking into the complex.

When Peter phoned it in I slunk out of the car, I could blend a lot better than Peter could and this way I could make sure they didn't bounce out of the back. He probably wasn't thrilled, but at least I'd get to do something. When I passed into the lobby I noticed a lot of ruckus, it wasn't overly loud until a man came running down the stairs. I turned and acted like I was messing with the mail boxes even as they started shouting.

I knew as long as I played it as if I were part of the scenery I'd be fine, they'd ignore me. But I also knew that Peter was outside and if they had this spat he'd be more likely to come inside. I wasn't expecting the guns though, when the MOMA guy pulled his piece shots barked off everywhere. I ducked behind the front desk and let it happen. I was worried about Peter, but not frightened for him.

It was then that I heard the scream of metal, something had been hit. There was a muffled cry outside and then silence. I bolted, Peter wasn't in here and that didn't sound like a raccoon. Something was wrong. And then I saw him.

He was a bloody mess, he'd been hit by a Suburban and thrown at least ten feet to slam into a wall. His right arm was dislocated and tucked behind his head. He had a compound fracture of the tibia that stuck out and showed off its jagged edges. His neck looked broken, it had to be with the angle his head was at, it had lolled to the left but his chin was completely against the ground not suspended like it should have been. His jaw looked broken, ribs broken, his left wrist was snapped so that it had bent back underneath the arm.

Peter wasn't going to walk away from this. My stomach lurched and I collapsed to my knees beside him, I couldn't give up, I couldn't give into the sinking feeling in my body. Peter was cold to the touch, so cold. I swallowed hard and rest my hand against his cheek.

"God Peter." I'm swallowing again trying not to let the tears flow, but they've built up too much and I can't hold them back. I'm shaking, trying to do something, anything. But it's useless. I can't save Peter, just like I couldn't save Kate. He's having a hard time breathing and though I don't want to say it I have to.

"Thank you." It is mumbled, but I don't know what else to say to him, he's dying right here in front of me and I can't do anything about it. I'm useless. Another loved one lost, another shot to the heart. How many shots can one person take before their heart stops?

THE END


	5. Shot to the Heart

Shots

"Shot to the Heart"

I didn't want to leave the bed this morning, Peter was warm and one of his arms was gently slung across my body and all I wanted him to do was pull me tight to him and tell me to stay. He didn't, he wouldn't do that because he knew we both had to go to work…but it was one of those mornings where I wished he would have. With a gentle sigh I slid my hand across his and pulled his fingers to my lips, offering each digit a soft kiss on the tip until there was movement behind me. He was muffled by sleep but I heard the, "Mornin," that I'd become used to. His lips pressed against the back of my neck and I simply rolled over in his arms to press my hands to his cheek.

"Wake up sleepy head."

"Mmmhmmm." He always wanted to sleep in, I felt the smile creep across my face when I pressed my forehead to his. This was our game, our time, something we'd always had.

"We have to go to work, I have to save the bride from terrible choices this morning and you have to save the world."

"Mmm, that's Neal's job now." He was grinning, but I tutted him anyway and reached up to drag a finger across his lips.

"He shares the spotlight, now out of bed silly we've got to get dressed." He groaned and leaned forward to kiss my finger first then me before we both drug ourselves out of bed.

I should have known then that I needed to stay, curled up in my husband's arms and enjoying the feeling of a warm body pressed to mine but life doesn't work like that. I've always said that life rides in your heart, but I never thought of it like I do now.

Asian cultures have different ideas of this but in this moment I suppose the Korean idea of Han makes more sense. Koreans believe that Han is accumulated through life and rests in one's chest, it is suffering. I've heard it described as many things, but I believe the most accurate is that it is a sadness that is so deep that tears can do it no justice. I suppose my Han finally caught up with me. All these years I thought it would be Peter that would go first, with his job, with the risks he takes, and all these years I never thought it would be me. I thought wrong.

I used to have nightmares about the ways that Peter could possibly die, and they've never really gone away even with his transfer to white collar crimes. I hated telling him about them because they simply clogged his mind, made it more dangerous for him and god love him he always thinks of me first above himself. I've never been able to shake the notion that I'd lose Peter one day, that he'd put on that khaki suit for the day and never leave it. And that thought haunts me, though I don't think that matters anymore.

Oh Peter….he's going to be alone. So alone. I've never loved anyone like I've loved Peter, my Peter. He's quirky and my college friends never understood what I saw in him, but they couldn't see the wonderful man beneath the surface of the slightly dorky one. He lit up my life every day since he stepped into it, and now I'm afraid I'm going to dim his by leaving. God I hope he holds onto his light, holds onto his spirit. If my death crushes him…I couldn't carry that guilt even in the grave…I don't want that for him. I couldn't imagine him moving onto someone else, but I don't want the world to miss out on Peter Burke. He's too special to be wasted away like that.

This morning I should have stayed in bed, stayed with him instead of coming to work. If I hadn't come to work…no I can't think about that not in these last moments, not in the little time I have left. Peter should be here, he'd say something soft and funny. He'd make this painful moment so much less frightening, he'd ease my suffering with his presence. God I wish I could reach my phone, reach out and just pluck him from wherever he is. I wasn't gifted with that power though, and I know he'll be here soon enough. I know he doesn't need to see me like this, face down in a pool of my own blood.

Someone will tell him, someone that knows him. Hughes maybe. Whoever they are I hope they're prepared, Peter will not accept this lightly. He'll be hurt, he'll be angry, but most of all he'll be broken. I love him and he is a strong man but when he loves he loves with all of his heart, all his energy goes into his love and that is the part of him that will break. God I hope Neal is there, Neal is good for him. He's a friend, a good shoulder, and most of all he will know what Peter will be going through. I hate it for both of them, but at least they'll have each other to get through this. At least he won't have to see me like this now.

It's almost time. I know that now. I wish I had the ability to leave a message for Peter, to tell him all the things I know he already knows. To tell him I love him one more time. I don't have that ability though, so I'll just…think…of our time…our…mornings…

THE END


	6. After Shot 3

Shots

"After Shots 3"

She always thinks I'm asleep until she wakes me up, and yeah it started that way but for years now I've always pretended for our moment. My job hasn't given us a lot of private time, not in the past few years, so in every moment I have to steal it when I can. I can't help but hold my breath as she starts to stir, her fingers caressing my hand before pulling it up to drop soft kisses against each finger tip. The breath I've been holding rolls out in a raspy, "Mornin." With that I shift, tightening my grip around her hand and shifting forward to plant a soft kiss against her neck. Turning to me she places her hands on my cheeks and I can't help but give her a soft smile.

"Wake up sleepy head." She has this cute little grin on her face, our ritual no matter how simple always warms us.

"Mmmhmm." Her forehead presses to mine and part of me wants to wrap my arms around her and keep her prisoner in our bed.

"We have to go to work, I have to save the bride from terrible choices this morning and you have to save the world." She always thinks I'm such a big hero, I don't even think she knows that she's my hero.

"Mmm, that's Neal's job now." I couldn't help but grin broadly, but then she tutted me and I frowned though the finger across my lips melted the frown away. She could always melt me and she knew it, it was El's best weapon.

"He shares the spotlight, now out of bed we've got to get dressed." There are so many things I could say to that, but she's right and now our little moment is broken. Off to work, but I can't let her go without one final kiss so I simply pressed my lips to the finger against them before rolling out of bed.

I guess good things aren't made to last, because when I got to work I was feeling energized and alive. I was feeling like everything was right in the world, my wife loved me, the case was closed, and most of all it was a beautiful day. I should have remembered what happened the last day everything felt right, but I never expected my day to go down in flames so quickly.

It hadn't been three hours since I'd seen El, since I'd held her in our bed and had our little wake up conversation when Hughes rapped his knuckles on my door. He looked…ashen, like someone had just told him the worst thing ever. I was alarmed, not for El, not at first anyway. Jones and Neal were out checking something out on a case we were looking into, it wasn't anything serious but the only time I'd seen Hughes with that look was when one of our agents died in the line of duty. I couldn't help but stand, straight and at attention.

"Peter, we need to talk."

"What's wrong sir?"

"Peter, sit down." My heart sunk, I needed to sit down? This was serious, someone was dead. There was no other reason I'd have to sit down for this. When we were both sitting down Hughes lowered his face to his hands and started speaking. "I just got off the phone with NYPD Peter, and I've got some terrible news."

"Who is it sir?"

"Peter…it's El." My world stopped, my breath held in my throat, and I could feel my heart just stand still. I swear in that moment, in those three words I died, more than little and definitely not just on the inside.

"Wha…what do you mean that it's El?" I swallowed afraid that if I led too much he'd tell me the wrong thing, he'd tell me the love of my life was dead…that I'd never wake up to her warm body or hear her voice. If I hung onto those thoughts, if I hung onto the idea that my wife was gone I wouldn't be able to hold myself together. I wouldn't be able to sit in this office in front of everyone and keep myself from shattering these glass walls.

"Peter, I'm sorry. The police said it was an assailant from a domestic abuse case down the block, he apparently ran from them and ducked into El's business. I don't know much else. She was found by the bride she had an appointment with today. Peter…?"

I couldn't look at him, I turned and gazed out of the window. My heart felt like it had been ripped out, my wife was dead and at the hands of some abusive whatever. I didn't feel the tears stream down my cheeks, much like I don't remember moving out of my office. The next thing I remember is this…

The morgue is always cold, colder than it should be in many ways. The temperature is cold, but then there is a deep emptiness that morgues hold. Perhaps it is the grieving, or perhaps it is because so much death just passes through these walls that they don't hold any life anymore. There is something in front of me, something that I can't quite explain.

This is not the Elizabeth Burke that I knew, she's gone. Her body is here, but she's gone. With a swallow my fingers glide across the skin of her hand, she's not there anymore. I've lost her for the first and last time, I'll never have my El again. With closed eyes I lower her hand and step backwards, I can hear the bag zipped back up and inside I twitch. They just…zipped my wife away.

I definitely wasn't expecting a hand to land on my shoulder, it was something that El would do when she knew I was hurting… My eyes were still closed but part of me knew it couldn't be El, that she'd never be able to comfort me like that again. That hand didn't leave though, and slowly mine rose to touch it, it was real. I swallowed and twisted my head to look over my shoulder at the one person I didn't really expect to see.

"Hughes told me, Peter I'm so sorry." I blinked, Neal Caffrey was standing in the morgue with me apologizing for something he had no control over. I nodded and looked back towards El's bag and offered her the soft quirk of my lips, she probably had planned this out in some odd way. Always taking care of me, but now I wouldn't have my Elizabeth but I think I could deal with at least having my friend. I wouldn't be as broken with my friend at my side, but then again we'd probably be a little less broken together.

THE END


	7. A Serendipitous Shot

Have you ever had one of those days where everything seemed to go right? I don't mean little things like making it just in time to get the trash out, I mean the big stuff like finding the hole in the traffic jam and getting to work on time when the rest of the city was 20 to 30 minutes late. I mean being able to get out of the way of a moving bus when it's air brakes fail. I also mean getting out of the line of fire when a shootout starts to happen.

Those are really big really right things that happen to people. But they didn't happen to me. Not today, today…was not my day. I remember waking up with a good vibe, like things would go right. But they didn't, they didn't go right at all. In fact as soon as I pulled the covers off of me and put two feet on the ground the hits started coming, how annoying is that?

I hadn't even had my morning coffee, or grabbed my paper before the phone call came that I needed to be on a scene ASAP. I got dressed in a hurry and forgot the most important part of my wardrobe…my phone. I made it out of the building just in time to miss the last cab on my street. And when I finally hailed one I got beaten out by a little old guy!

Needless to say I was late to the scene; I had to walk four blocks to catch another cab and then got stuck in traffic. Surely the day couldn't get any worse right? Sigh. I wish it hadn't. But it did.

I don't even know what I was doing there; it wasn't my type of thing. Nothing was flashy or expensive, everything was just…boring. Really this was just wrong from the beginning. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that it was a set up. That it hadn't been Jones on the line calling me out. That if it had been a case it would have been Peter to call me. And one of them would have picked me up if it was so urgent. Plus it was on the edge of my radius, barely but in it. So I should have been riding with them anyway.

Today was a bad day that was obvious when Keller stepped out of the shadows with that pompous little smile and that pompous short stature of his. He had me and he knew it and there was nothing I could do about it. Guns, really? I hate guns, and all of these guys have the nerve to come at me with them. And so I got a little perturbed and I told him that.

That didn't win much favor, and I wouldn't suspect it too actually now that I've really thought about it. Perhaps there was a reason he was testy when he pulled the trigger. The first thought I had was "This doesn't hurt as bad as they say." And then it hit me, that flaming white hot pain that makes your head spin and your knees get wobbly. I screamed and I'm not afraid to admit that, I hit the ground on my knees and held tight to my gut gasping and gritting my teeth. Of course Keller had to drone on about how he bested me but that didn't matter. I was in a tough spot and didn't have much time left, I had my anklet and that was about the only kind of weapon I had.

So I did what any good con would do, I crawled until the red light flicked on. I knew that if the Marshalls saw I was out of radius they'd alert Peter and that he'd track me down. That would have to be the one good thing that happened to me today. The great Peter Burke, my friend, would come and collect his con. He'd probably be complaining he'd probably be cussing me up left and right for doing something stupid. It might not even register to him that I'm not moving on the gps, that I'm just stationary and if it does he might think that something suspicious is going on. But that'll just make him race here faster, find me faster.

I guess you can consider that a good thing. I feel bad for him. I'm not at my finest right now; I was dishelved to begin with so he might think I was in a fight pity the thought. But I've left a mess for the last few feet, probably ruining any evidence I'd have to offer him. Oh…I'm not dead yet though. Maybe I can do one more thing before I go. Leave him one piece of evidence, one piece of something he might need. And so I flipped my jacket open and dipped a finger in blood, I attempted to scrawl out in nice neat letters "Keller" but that didn't go so well. It looks kind of like "Killer" which is close. Maybe he'll figure it out, he's a smart one. I'm too tired to worry about it. It's time to take a nice nap…

I think I left the oven on…


End file.
